


Let It Go

by cassie_black



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Community: hd_erised, HP: EWE, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-02 09:39:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8662555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassie_black/pseuds/cassie_black
Summary: Eight years after Hogwarts and Malfoy is still the bane of Harry's life. Maybe.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dustmouth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustmouth/gifts).



> To the mods for their endless patience, and for all the work they put in to running this wonderful fest. To those of you who take the time to read and/or comment. And to dustmouth for giving such lovely prompts. Thank you and Merry Christmas to you all!

"Stop struggling!"

A flick of Harry's wand tightened the bands around their prisoner's wrists.

"Seriously," Ron added, his best 'don't even try it' expression firmly in place. "How far d'you think you'd get?" He gestured with the confiscated wand in one hand to the surrounding Auror Department with the other. "Give it up."

"You've got the wrong man!"

Harry didn't even resist rolling his eyes, because _of course_ they'd got the wrong man. Hadn't they always?

"And I'm sure that wasn't your case of highly illegal potions we found in the attic of your house, right?"

"Yes." Their prisoner turned to Harry with wild eyes. "I mean…No! They weren't mine. I've never seen them before."

"Of course not." Ron guided their prisoner in the direction of the holding cells. "You're innocent, right?"

"Exactly."

"Room for another?" Ron asked the on-duty Auror, before the cell door opened. A _gentle_ nudge had their suspect stumbling inside. "You can tell the Wizengamot all about how innocent you are tomorrow morning." 

The door clanged shut and Ron turned to leave, but not before muttering, "Or at least he can if you don't piss Malfoy off again."

"Hey!" Harry shouldered past his partner with a little more force than necessary. "That wasn't my fault."

"Nothing's anyone's fault today," Ron replied, as he made himself comfortable at his desk once again. "Come on, let's get this paperwork processed. Hermione's the duty law witch today and I don't need to spend another evening listening to the iniquities of the Auror department. That woman really can't leave her work at the office."

Harry dropped into his own chair and reluctantly tugged the imposing pile of documents towards him. "That's nothing compared to the grief I got off Malfoy the last time you forgot to sign the charge sheet. I swear he practices ways to make my name sound like an insult. Petty bastard."

The laugh that followed did little to sooth Harry's renewed irritation. "Draco's okay really."

And Harry would never get used to hearing that name come out of Ron's mouth.

"You just have to know how to handle him."

"He fancies you," Harry accused, tone sullen.

"He does not."

Harry opened his mouth to press the point further but the approaching click of heels on the tiled floor cut him off.

"Who fancies him?"

"Never mind." Harry carefully avoided Pansy Parkinson's gaze. The last thing he wanted was this getting back to Malfoy – he was difficult enough to deal with as it was.

Ron had no such qualms, it appeared.

"Draco," he said, amusement clear in his voice. "Harry thinks he's secretly in love with me, when really it's just my ability to complete paperwork legibly that he finds irresistible."

Pansy perched on the edge of Harry's desk. "Draco always was easily pleased." She ran her gaze over Harry as she spoke, and it took all of his effort not to squirm. "Talking of paperwork, you've got one of our clients in here, I believe, so I hope for your sake it's all in order, Auror Weasley."

"Bloody hell! We only just got back, how the—"

"Contacts, Weasley." Pansy treated them both to a small, smug smile. "You should try cultivating them sometime."

"I don't think flashing my cleavage at junior Aurors will have quite the same effect."

"Don’t be jealous. We all have to work with the talents we were given."

Harry tried his hardest not to look at Pansy's _talents_ , which were admittedly hard to ignore. He wondered what Hermione made of this pseudo-flirting that characterised most of Ron's and Pansy's interactions.

"Don't be shy, Potter." Pansy leant forward a little in Harry's direction. "Someone should appreciate them, and they're clearly wasted on Weasley if he's conducting a torrid affair with Draco."

Harry remained silent, but Pansy still appeared satisfied with the encounter. She sat back up and turned her attention to Ron again. "I'm sure Hermione will be most interested to hear about this latest development."

Ron just shook his head in amusement – he was much harder to provoke these days. "Where is my wife anyway? You don't normally slum it on the pro-bono cases."

"She's here," Pansy replied. "She's just popped into the Wizengamot office – probably warning Draco to keep his hands off you as we speak."

Ron's laughter only irritated Harry further. He grabbed the nearest document and glared as if to burn a hole in it. "I'll fill this out then, shall I?"

"Okay." It either went over Ron's head or he chose to ignore; Harry was never sure nowadays. "Don't forget to—"

"Fill it out in triplicate." Harry glared at his partner. "I have done this before, you know."

"Unless, of course, you were looking for a reason to spend more time in Draco's office?"

Harry hadn't quite got the mastery of his temper that Ron had yet, and Pansy's sly tone never failed to rile him. "Don't you have a client to see?" he snapped, and added his best glare for good measure.

Pansy's laugh was throaty and utterly unfazed. "I do indeed, Potter." She slid off the desk and looked around. "Ah, Baker." She snagged the arm of a passing Auror. "Escort a lady to the holding cells, would you?"

Harry watched her leave, each click of her heels a further source of irritation. "I hate her," he muttered, stabbing his quill fiercely into the parchment.

Ron sat back in his chair, faint smile still on his face. "Of course you do, mate," he agreed easily. "Just like you hate Malfoy, right?"

"Exactly."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

There were days that Draco swore his in-tray was cursed with a replicating charm – it was the only possible reason for the never-ending stream of paperwork that filled his days. His mother would use some polite-sounding word for it, like 'banal' – to Draco it was just fucking tedious. And not in any way helped by the imbeciles he was forced to engage with on a daily basis.

An irritated flick of his wand sent the latest decimation of the English language off his desk and in the direction of its author in the outer office.

"You have a spell checking quill, for Merlin's sake," he snapped, not troubling to hide his irritation. "How hard is it to actually use it?" He turned back to the waiting stack of papers with a muttered, "halfwit."

"Still motivating the junior staff members, I see?"

Draco lifted his head, a biting retort at the ready. But it vanished at the sight of his visitor.

"Granger," he said, with more warmth than the average visitor received. It wasn't her name any more, but another Weasley was just plain confusing, and he liked to keep things professional at work. Besides, it was really more a term of endearment now and they both knew it. He ushered her in and waited till she was seated before continuing. "What favour can I do for you today?"

Hermione feigned surprise. Badly.

"Amateur," Draco scoffed, with an amused shake of his head. "People only ever come in here when they want something."

Hermione crossed her legs and made a small production of settling her robes. "Wouldn't it have made sense for me to send Pansy up here if that was true?"

"Hardly. She's already up to her neck in favours owed. There's no way she'd chance asking for another until I've called a few of those ones in. Besides, we both know you're much harder to say no to."

Hermione beamed. There was no other word for it.

Draco did his best to ignore the warm feeling this caused in the pit of his stomach. "I haven't agreed yet," he cautioned, and leant back in his chair as he spoke. "Why don't you start by telling me why I should?"

"Pot roast for dinner next Saturday," Hermione answered promptly – she'd clearly come prepared.

Draco leant forward in spite of himself. " _Molly's_ pot roast?" he clarified, certain his father would be rolling in his grave if he weren't still very much alive.

"Of course." Hermione's snort was most inelegant but Draco let it pass this once. "I'm hardly likely to win you around with mine, am I?"

It was the truth and they both knew it. Just like they both knew Draco's weakness for Molly Weasley's cooking.

Draco sat back in his chair again and kicked his feet up on the desk this time. "Okay, so let me have it? What have I sold my soul to the pot roast gods for?"

The change in Hermione's demeanour was noticeable, as she shifted into business mode. "Aurors Weasley and Potter have detained a client of ours in a recent potions raid," she said, and slid a parchment over the desk.

Draco reached for it and motioned for her to continue.

"It's a clear case of mistaken identity and we have a witness who can corroborate this."

"Not that the offer of food isn't appreciated, Granger, but I really don't see what you need from me if it's all so clear cut."

"It will take us some time to produce the witness," Hermione said. "So when Harry comes up with the paperwork, I just need you to stall him for a few hours."

"And how do you suggest I do that?" Actually Draco already had several ideas, but none were really suitable for conversation with his best friend.

"You're a smart man, Malfoy." Hermione gave a sly smile here which spoke of too much time spent with Pansy. "You could do that thing where you get him all flustered and make his ears glow red."

Draco did enjoy a flushed Potter, that was true – all that righteous indignation was rather appealing, not that wild Thestrals would drag that admission from him. "I'll see what I can do," he said. "You're assuming it will be Potter and not your dear husband who comes up?"

Hermione gave that unnervingly Pansy-esque smile again. "It will be."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I'm not the only one you can't say no to."

Draco was still mentally fumbling for a rebuttal to this as Hermione headed towards the door. "Thanks Malfoy," she said, then paused and turned. "Next Saturday, 7pm. Don't be late."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sometimes Harry hated his job. And his best friend. If it wasn't for them both then he wouldn't be stuck in Malfoy's office feigning patience and civility and a whole host of other emotions that didn't belong in the same context as Draco Malfoy. And it was all such a waste of his energy, Harry knew, because the minute the first snide remark left Malfoy's mouth, as it inevitably would, Harry's temper would kick in. He could take verbal from suspects all day long, but Malfoy was Harry's Achilles heel. And worse still, the bastard knew it.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Is everything—?"

Malfoy made what sounded like a shushing noise and followed it with a dismissive wave of his hand. But he never raised his eyes from the parchment, clutched in long, slender fingers.

Harry made one last attempt to rein in his temper. "I only wanted—"

Malfoy slapped the parchment on his desk, though his expression was more exasperated than angry. "For Merlin's sake, Potter!" He took off his glasses – how had Harry never noticed those before? – and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "If you want me to recommend this warrant to the Wizengamot, you're actually going to have to let me read it."

The fact it was a valid point soothed Harry's hackles only mildly. "Sorry," he muttered, not feeling it in the least.

A quirk of his lips made it look almost like Malfoy was smiling, but Harry was nowhere near familiar enough with that expression to be sure.

"It's fine." Malfoy gave another vague wave of his hand and settled his glasses back in place. "I was done anyway."

 _Contrary little shit,_ Harry wanted to shout. But the memory of Ron's _"don't fuck this up, Harry",_ kept him quiet. "So?" he pressed, when Malfoy offered no further comment.

"Where's Weasley?"

Harry felt a flare of something – irritation most likely, or possibly indigestion. He'd only been joking about Malfoy's crush, but maybe…

"Downstairs. I'll be sure to tell him he was missed."

Malfoy's brows rose slightly and Harry mentally kicked himself for biting.

"Missing is a stretch." Malfoy leant back from the desk and began slowly to turn back the sleeves of his shirt in a manner Harry found hard to ignore. "I'm just surprised he let you come up here with this."

Harry bristled. "I'm quite capable—"

"Yes, yes." Malfoy really needed to stop waving his hand around or Harry was going to hex it. "It wasn't a slur on your ability, Potter. More a commentary on the fact you can't bear to be in the same room as me."

"It isn't…" Harry shook his head. Malfoy annoyed the crap out of him at times, but it wasn't as bad as all that. "That's not true," he settled on finally. Not the greatest rebuttal, but the best he could manage on short notice.

"No need to spare my feelings. I'm a big boy; I can take it."

The flush that crept up Harry's neck was entirely involuntary, but humiliating nonetheless. "I'm not lying. I'm perfectly capable of spending time in a room with you."

Malfoy was definitely amused now. _Bastard._ "Name one time."

"Dinner at Ron and Hermione's."

"You mostly make excuses not to come when you know I'll be there, and on the few occasions you have graced us with your presence, you up and leave as soon as the plates are cleared."

The flush spread over Harry's face, only it was one of discomfort now. Malfoy was telling the truth, he knew that, but hearing it laid out so starkly illustrated just how rude his behaviour must seem. "I'll be there this Saturday," he said, with just a hint of defiance. "Till the end."

Malfoy laughed. "Potter, you look like a man going to the gallows. You don't have to prove anything to me."

"I know." Though the voice in Harry's head was screaming loudly that he did. Hadn't he always?

It was starting to occur to Harry that everyone else had moved on. Hermione and Pansy worked together, Ron and Draco were actually friends, and even Zabini had put in an appearance at their last meal together. And yet Harry was still clinging on to some ridiculous playground grudge. Malfoy had always pushed his buttons in a way that no one else could, but a painfully honest part of Harry owned that this was on him. He was the one looking for slights when maybe Malfoy was only trying to be friendly. It certainly warranted thinking about, he decided.

"I'm not trying to prove anything," he said finally, keeping his other thoughts quiet. "I was invited and I'll be there. Besides, I hear we're having Molly's pot roast."

The answering grin that lit Malfoy's face was something Harry couldn't clear from his head for the rest of the day.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Despite his emphatic pronouncement, a large part of Draco doubted Potter's word. Sure, he might have meant it at the time, but he'd had two days to change his mind since then. Of course, Draco hadn't been quite so sceptical when opting to wear his newest pair of robes. _Always be prepared_ , Grandmother Malfoy had taught him, and Draco had learnt well.

It was a lesson he was undoubtedly grateful for when a familiar face opened the door at his knock.

"Potter." Draco added just the hint of a smile to his nod. "You came."

"Said I would, didn't I?" Potter was a little defensive, but the usual rancour was absent as he waved Draco into the cosy living room.

"Smells good." Draco sniffed the air in a manner his mother would have despaired of. But then his mother had never sampled Molly Weasley's pot roast, so what did she know?

"There's pie, too." Potter's manner was friendly, almost confidential, and the smile that accompanied his words allowed Draco to imagine, not for the first time, what it would be like if only they could get along.

"Apple?"

"And blackberry."

The smile was still there and Draco felt the tiniest bit confused – maybe Potter had been at the Firewhisky already.

The moment ended when Pansy sidled over. "New robes, Draco?"

He didn't flush. Wouldn't give her the satisfaction. He just gave her a look that promised dire retribution. "Some of us like to look our best," he replied as loftily as possibly, and didn't miss the considering look that Potter gave him.

"Of course you do," Pansy said in that _let's placate Draco_ tone she'd learnt from his bloody mother. She smoothed one hand over his shoulder, allowing the fabric to run between finger and thumb. "They bring out your eyes," she said. "Don't they, Potter?"

Many times during their friendship Draco had been torn between the urge to kill or kiss his best friend, and now was no exception. Potter just looked rather confused by the encounter.

"Um…I'm not really the best person to ask about clothes and stuff," he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

Which was certainly true, however much Draco refrained from agreeing. Pansy snickered, but really that was restraint coming from her.

"Draco! There you are." Hermione swept into the room, a stack of crockery in hand. "We were starting to think you weren't coming."

"Think? Or hope?" Draco looked pointedly at Ron who followed his wife into the room. "Hoping for a larger portion this evening, Ronald?"

"Behave," Hermione scolded over the sound of Potter spluttering his drink. "Now, make yourself useful and set these out."

Draco took the crockery without protest, and couldn't resist a grin at Potter as he made his way to the table. "Sorry, Potter, forgot your sensitive ears were here this evening." 

"You might enjoy thoughts of Ron getting a large portion, Malfoy." Harry's eyes glinted with amusement as his sipped from his glass. "I'd prefer to be able to sleep tonight."

"Hey!" Ron looked like he couldn't decide if he should be offended or not, but he wasn't Molly Weasley's son for nothing. "Stop dicking about and get the table laid, Malfoy, or Harry gets your portion."

Draco struggled to bite back every comment about the portion he'd _like_ to give Potter, who apparently could read minds, because he gave an amused shake of his head.

"Come on." He grabbed half the plates from Draco's pile. "You don't want to test Hermione's patience this evening, trust me."

Draco quashed the flicker of warmth that flourished in his belly. It wouldn't do to get his hopes up. No doubt Potter would be gone by the last mouthful of pie, and things would return to normal.

Only he wasn't gone, and Draco was surprised at just how happy he was to be proved wrong. Sure, Potter wasn't the chattiest of dinner guests, but Hermione and Pansy had monopolised the conversation with shop talk until Ron complained vociferously. And he couldn't remember Potter every being particularly talkative anyway.

But it was clear that he was making an effort, and when the time came for them to finally leave, it was Potter who suggested the walk to the Apparition point together.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry was surprised to find out how easy it was to be civil with Malfoy when he wasn't scrutinising his every word for slights and insults. In the week since that memorable dinner at Ron's and Hermione's, they had run across each other several times at work, and their last interaction had been almost friendly. If he was honest, Harry was a little ashamed at how stubborn he had been with the whole issue – the fact that Ron had moved on and become friends with Malfoy should have been the clearest sign that he was being ridiculous.

He was nothing if not stubborn when he wanted to be, and Harry was determined not to let this momentum slide. He was going to become friends with Draco Malfoy whether Malfoy liked it or not. Though, to be fair, Malfoy seemed to be pretty receptive to the idea himself. He'd certainly been far more approachable at work recently, even if he had taken great delight in _red-penning_ Harry's last warrant request. Harry had a feeling that even the best of Malfoy's friends still had a small cross to bear in that regard.

That was why he, instead of Ron, was now the regular visitor to Malfoy's office with requests for their department. And despite initial concerns from his colleagues, they had proved groundless. Harry remembered the look of surprise on Robards' face when he had returned with that last surveillance warrant authorised in record time with just a hint of smug satisfaction.

The outer office was empty when he arrived. Not that surprising though, given the reports Harry had heard of Malfoy's latest assistant fleeing in tears earlier in the week. Really, anyone with sense would make thick skin a prerequisite for that job.

Harry knocked and what sounded like a muffled acknowledgment followed. Given their recent détente, he decided to risk entering.

Malfoy was in; seated at his desk as usual, only this time he looked decidedly… off. Never less than immaculate usually, his hair was ruffled, his pale cheeks flushed, and tie had been tugged askew. In anyone else this would have warranted a moment's pause. In Malfoy they were like a neon sign flashing _apocalypse_.

Harry stepped inside, and the heavy door swung closed – Malfoy winced at the thud.

"Potter." He gestured to the vacant seat with the barest of movements.

"Malfoy." Harry nodded and sat down. "You look like shit," he said, and then kicked himself hard.

"Flattery will get you—"

Where flattery was going to get Harry was never quite clarified because Malfoy broke off into a hacking cough that rattled loudly in his chest.

"Are you taking anything for that?" Harry asked when Malfoy finally sat back in his chair, eyes glassy with unshed tears.

A bottle of Firewhisky was waved at him in response.

"Malfoy!" Harry couldn't help sound a little scandalised. "You can't drink that at work."

"Why not?" Malfoy honest-to-god pouted. "Shacklebolt was permanently half-cut."

"Yes," Harry agreed slowly. "And that's one of the reasons why he's not Minster anymore."

"You're no fun, Potter, you know that?" Malfoy stowed the bottle with obviously reluctance, but not before Harry noticed his hands.

"You're shaking." It came out as more of an accusation than intended.

"Just a bit cold." Malfoy tugged his robe closer around his body, and Harry noticed just how thick it was.

"It's July," he said incredulously. "And this office is like an oven." It really was too. He'd been on the verge of shedding his robes, were it not for Malfoy considering such things unprofessional. "You should be in bed."

"Are you asking?" The attempt at a seductive tone was ruined somewhat by the return of Malfoy's cough.

"I'm telling," Harry said firmly. "You're obviously sick. Go home, sleep it off."

Malfoy didn't reply for a moment, just stared at Harry mutinously. Finally, after a particularly violent shudder wracked his body, his shoulders sagged in defeat. "Fine. You win."

"Don't I always?" Harry couldn't help ask wryly. Then hurried to his feet when Malfoy seemed to sway on his. "Come on, I'll walk you down."

Malfoy opened his mouth, protests clear on his face. But they never came. Apparently a sick Malfoy was a lot more pliable than a healthy one.

It was early enough in the day that most people were still in their offices pretending to be busy, rather than loitering around corridors in search of gossip. So they made it to the Floo chambers without interruption.

Malfoy swaying precariously again when he entered the Floo was enough to make up Harry's mind, and he followed behind. "Budge up."

Malfoy stared at him with bloodshot eyes. "What are you doing?"

"I'm coming with you," Harry replied in a tone that clearly implied _duh_. "You can barely stand upright – Merlin knows where you'll end up if I let you go alone."

Again, sick Malfoy held off on the usual protests. If anything he looked a tiny bit relieved. Harry took a firm hold of his arm and spoke in a clear voice. Moments later then tumbled out into another fireplace, and after a moment scramble, managed not to fall.

"How did you know my address?" Draco peered around the room in surprise, as if he'd expected Harry to take him elsewhere.

"Auror." Harry replied, like this explained everything. Truthfully he'd wheedled it out of Ron the day before, planning to casually drop round at some point over the next weekend. But now didn't seem like the right time to mention that.

Malfoy coughed again, burying his face in the crook of his elbow, but the rattling sound made Harry wince in sympathy nonetheless. Without thinking about it, he reached out and patted Malfoy's back gently.

When Malfoy was finally upright again, he wiped at his teary eyes, and smiled wanly at Harry. "Come on then, Auror Potter, take me to bed."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"This is getting to be a bit of a habit." Hermione beamed at Harry as she opened the front door. "You keep accepting invitations like this and I'll start to think Polyjuice is involved."

"Ha ha." Harry stepped around her and into the warmth of the lounge. "That's starting to get a little old."

"Potter! Here again?" Harry did his best not to glare at Pansy, but he was finding her a little bit more to take than Malfoy.

"Pansy." He nodded, and gave a faint smile.

"Never mind her, Potter." Draco crossed the room and took Harry's coat from his hands, hanging it on the nearby hooks. It was an entirely innocent action but one that made Harry's breath catch nonetheless. "Come rescue me."

"Rescue?" Harry couldn’t help but borrow Draco's eyebrow raise.

"Yes." Draco ignored the scoffing from both Pansy and Hermione. "Weasley's escaped upstairs and these two are haranguing me about work. _Work_ , on a Saturday."

"It was hardly haranguing, Draco." Hermione said, handing Harry a glass of wine. "I was just pointing out that your office—"

"Are you still talking about this?" Ron came thundering down the stairs. "Can we please talk about something else?"

"Here here." Draco raised his glass in toast. "Well said." Some of the liquid sloshed over the rim.

"How many of those has he had?" Harry asked quietly.

Hermione laughed. "Not as many as you'd think."

"You're a frightful lightweight, aren't you, Draco." Pansy sipped from her own glass and eyed Draco with amusement.

"I'm simply getting into the spirit of the evening. Besides, I'm going to need many more of these if you two don't shut up about that damn case."

"No more work talk," Ron said firmly, with a look that said he meant it. "We must be able to find something else to talk about, surely."

"I'll be in the kitchen dishing up dinner while you think about that, then." Hermione got to her feet and exited.

One glance at the stumped faces around him had Harry following.

"It really is nice to see you more regularly now," Hermione said as soon as he entered the room. "You know I'm only teasing, right?"

"I know." Harry hopped up on the counter and watched as she pulled a roasting tin from the oven. "I'm sorry I turned you down so many times."

"What changed your mind?" Hermione peeled the foil back from the chicken – it was the one thing she could cook with any degree of success.

"Don't know." Harry shrugged. "I think I just needed to give it a chance."

"It?" Hermione asked, "or him?"

Harry grinned ruefully – there was no hiding anything from her. "A bit of both really."

"Well, whatever changed your mind, I'm glad you did. Now, grab those potatoes and follow me."

Harry hopped off the counter and did as he was told. "You know, there's one definite upside to you always inviting Malfoy now."

Hermione didn't reply, just waited patiently for his response.

"At least now you aren't inviting random blokes to fix me up with anymore."

Hermione stopped in the open doorway and turned to face him. "Not _random_ blokes, no."

Harry looked from their waiting friends in the lounge beyond back to Hermione's almost pitying expression. "What does that mean?" 

"Did it never occur to you that…?" She trailed off and gave a shake of her head. "Never mind. Let's eat."

"Hang on; you can't just leave it like that."

"You're a smart man, Harry. I'm sure you'll figure it out."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Hermione's trying to fix us up."

"Afternoon, Harry. I'm fine, thank you for asking."

"Didn't you hear what I said?" Harry ignored the pointed remark, and swept past Draco into his flat.

"I heard." Draco led the way into the living room – he really didn't want to deal with an agitated Potter in the hallway.

"You don't seem very surprised."

"That's because I'm not," Draco admitted, feigning casualness he definitely didn't feel.

"You knew? And you didn't think to mention it?"

"I suspected," Draco corrected. "Given that Pansy's been suggesting the same thing for the last month or so, it's not really a surprise."

"But I…" Harry sank down onto the sofa. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I was worried you'd overreact." Draco dropped to the seat at Harry's side. "I can't imagine why."

"It's not funny." Harry scrubbed at his face with one hand. His expression could only be described as one of confusion.

"No," Draco replied slowly, aware of the need to choose his words carefully. "Not funny. But is it really so bad?"

"It really doesn't bother you?"

"Not really, no." Draco had had an inkling about Hermione's intentions since that first dinner invitation some months ago. He hadn't expected Potter to figure it out so quickly, truth be told, but now that he had, Draco wasn't going to lie about it.

"But I thought…"

"Thought what?"

"You don't like me."

Draco didn't mean to laugh but he really couldn't stop himself. "This isn't school anymore, Harry. Besides," he said, allowing a hint of hurt to colour his tone. "I thought we were past that now. I'd rather hoped we'd become friends."

Seeming to realise his mistake, Harry back pedalled. "We are." He nodded emphatically. "I just meant…Oh, I don't know what I meant." He flopped back in his seat. "I'm just confused. This morning I knew where I stood, and then even after talking to Hermione, but now… this," He gestured in Draco's direction.

Draco might not have planned to bring this up so soon, but he was never one to miss an opportunity when presented.

"Is it really so bad?" he asked again, leaning further into Harry's space.

"Us?" Harry's eyes widened impossibly but he didn't pull away. "It's not that I think it's bad, it's just. Well, I've never thought about it before."

Draco suspected that was a lie but didn't quite feel confident enough to call him on it. "And what about now?" He shifted an inch or two closer. "What do you think about it now?"

"You're a good looking bloke." Harry's expression said he hadn't meant to blurt that out, but Draco definitely appreciated the flush in his cheeks. "I mean, I'm not blind. And we do get on better now."

"You're not so bad yourself," Draco replied. "Even if your penmanship is bloody atrocious."

Though he hadn't meant to say it, that seemed to be the spark that broke the tension. Because the look of mild alarm left Harry's face and he let out a laugh.

"Only you would insult someone at the same time as trying to seduce them."

"You think I'm trying to seduce you?"

"Aren't you?" Potter's eyes almost dared him to deny it. Not that Draco had any intention of doing so.

"Yes."

"You're taking an awful long time about it." Potter grinned and Draco found himself forced to reconsider everything he'd thought he knew about the Boy Who Lived.

Wasting no further time, he closed the remaining distance and pressed his lips to Harry's. Not that wild Thestrals would drag it from him, but Draco had thought of this moment on and off ever since he'd seen Potter come out of the lake back in fourth year. And not even his wildest imaginings could live up to the reality of Potter's lips, warm and soft, and pressed oh so firmly against his own. He wasted no time in burying his fingers in Potter's messy locks, just as he'd done in his head many times before.

"You kissed me." Potter said when Draco finally pulled away, his expression a little dazed.

"Yes." Draco watched in satisfaction as Potter raised his fingers to touch his lips. It was good to see he wasn't the only one so affected.

"Are you planning to do it again?" There was no missing the hope or the uncertainty in Potter's expression.

"Repeatedly," Draco replied with a grin that could only be described as wolfish.

Potter's answering grin was almost blinding. "Good." Then, with a hint of impatience, he cupped one hand round the nape of Draco's neck and tugged him back in.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment here or on [Livejournal](http://hd-erised.livejournal.com/81896.html) . ♥
> 
> This story is part of an on-going anonymous fest hosted at hd_erised @ livejournal.com. The author will be revealed January 9th.


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